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Paul Gough
'A War of the Imagination':The Experience
of British Artists in Two World Wars
A version of this paper first appeared
as a chapter in Lightning Strikes Twice,
edited by Peter Liddle, published by Leo Cooper, London, 2001
What did it look like ? They will ask in 1981, and no amount of
description or documentation will answer them. Nor will big, formal
compositions like the battle
pictures which hang in palaces ; and even photographs, which tell
us so much, will leave out the colour and the peculiar feeling
of events in these extraordinary
years. Only the artist with his heightened powers of perception
can recognise which elements in a scene can be pickled for posterity
in the magical essence of
style. And as new subjects began to saturate his imagination,
they create a new style, so that from the destruction of war something
of lasting value emerges.(1)
Fundamentally, little changed in the circumstances
of British artists during the First and Second World Wars. In both
wars the art market shrivelled, prices tumbled, artists' materials
- such as fine papers, canvas and pigments - became scarce and expensive.
Adventurous and exploratory art forms gave way to rather chastened,
reflective work that espoused home virtues and patriotic loyalties.
The government-funded schemes for commissioning official images
of wartime were, as we shall see, remarkably similar during both
wars; many good artists were commissioned; many others who thought
themselves eminently employable were to be disappointed, others
had their skills redeployed into field camouflage, survey and cartography.
Both wars were preceded by frenetic intellectual and artistic activity
generated by the modern movement. In the years before the Great
War many young British artists were trying to assimilate the new
ideas of Cubism and Futurism emanating from Paris and Italy. The
period before World War Two was comparatively calmer, but British
art was enjoying a neo-Romantic revival and slowly coming to terms
with the challenge of continental surrealism and pure abstraction.
Of course, during both periods of war, only a small core of artists
were involved in the debates generated by the avant-garde. For many
others, their interests were best represented by one of the long-established
academies of art that existed in London and in the regions, and
during both world wars the students, graduates and staff of these
academies would become the artists, advisors and advocates of the
official war art schemes.
Before we examine the key themes that lie behind this century's
war art, let us look briefly at two very different artists - Muirhead
Bone and CRW Nevinson - who experienced both world wars and left
very different records of their involvement. The Scottish etcher
Muirhead Bone was 40 years old when he became the first ever official
British war artist in 1916. One year later Christopher Richard Wynne
Nevinson, a 27 year old Modernist painter prone to staging noisy
and well-publicised Futurist events was also appointed. Despite
the assertion in his autobiography that his appointment was initiated
by a string of generals, Nevinson's chief admirer was in fact Muirhead
Bone. (2) Nevinson did,
though, have formidable front-line credentials having already served
in France as an ambulance driver with the Belgian Red Cross.
To many observers, Muirhead Bone was a sound, if somewhat predictable,
choice as an official war artist. Revered as the 'London Piranesi',
he had a reputation for highly detailed and accurate renditions
of complex subjects. These ranged from the architectural minutiae
of a shipyard or munitions hall, to the uniforms and insignia of
groups of soldiers. Although dismissed infamously by one critic
as 'too true to be good' (3) Bone was a proficient
and prolific worker; during one seven week visit to the Somme battlefield
in late summer 1916 he made 150 finished drawings. By 1917 he had
produced five hundred highly detailed images for the government
- an effort that drove him to near-collapse. There was, though,
an insatiable demand for his work. It reproduced well in black and
white, and was widely distributed in print portfolios, booklets
and pamphlets aimed at neutral countries such as the United States.
Bone travelled behind the front-lines in a chauffeur-driven car,
stopping occasionally to render the scenery of war. By his own admission
he recognised that modern war was an elusive and remote activity:
'I'm afraid that I have not done many ruins ... But you must remember
that on the Somme nothing is left after such fighting as we have
had here - in many cases
not a vestige of the village remains, let alone impressive ruins
!'(4)
Bone drew the aftermath of the fighting, he was rarely allowed near
the front-line. As a result his panoramic sketches of the battles
of Mametz Wood or the bombardment of Longueval show little more
than hazy smoke on a distant horizon. As one critic noted it was
"like a peep at the war through the wrong end of the telescope".
(5) This was not a criticism
that could be levelled at CRW Nevinson.
Nevinson revelled in the role of the front-line war artist. He was
described as a "desperate fellow and without fear [who was]
only anxious to crawl into the front line and draw things full of
violence and terror".(6)
His war memoir (aptly-entitled Paint and Prejudice) bristles with
exciting incidents such as the time he made an unauthorised visit
to Ypres on the eve of the Passchendaele offensive, or another occasion
when drawing near the British front line:
'( I )got shelled, had to stick glued against
a bank for an hour wondering when Fritz would leave off. I wondered
why on earth I had not devoted myself to painting
'nice nudes' in a warm studio, instead of risking so much for
a picture which will probably not sell,be accused of being faked
and certainly be abused by the
inevitable arm-chair journalist.'(7)
In fact the opposite was true. Once exhibited,
Nevinson's war paintings and prints attracted huge crowds and, initially,
critical acclaim. In part this was due to the artist's energetic
publicity campaign, but it was also because his paintings of troops
marching, bombs exploding, and machine-gunners in action combined
figurative realism with simple geometric abstraction. Outwardly
his work could not have seemed more different to Bone's; but for
all its radical modernism the work remained "intelligible and
unintimidating" (8)
especially to soldiers home on leave. A year later, however, just
as the Observer correspondent asserted that "he stands alone,
in England, as the painter of modern war" (9)
Nevinson shed his modernist veneer and turned to a more realistic
pictorial style, one intended to evoke suffering, endurance and
the stark realities of static warfare.
Twenty years later, as another world war threatened, both artists
again offered their services. Bone, with an embellished reputation
as the artist of the industrial sublime, and knighted for his services
to the art world, again became the first official British artist
to see action in the Second World War. Appointed to the Admiralty
with the rank of honorary major, Royal Marines, he drew diligently
in the shipyards at Portsmouth producing compelling and stirring
images of the British fleet. In 1940 he recorded the return of the
remnants of the British Expeditionary Force from Dunkirk. Bone had
lost none of his eye for telling detail which had made him so useful
for propaganda purposes during the Great War. Furthermore, he was
extraordinarily versatile and quick to adapt to government needs.
In December 1940, for example, he was summonsed from a sketching
mission in west Scotland to depict the ruins in London after the
devastating raid of 29 December. His drawing St Brides and the City
after the Fire is an extraordinary image - quite enormous at 77
inches by 44 inches in dimension - which depicts in microscopic
detail the smouldering remains of the City. It was later described
as 'the kind of document one would produce as evidence before a
commission on bomb damage'. (10)
While Bone flourished, Nevinson floundered. After the Great War
his work lost its dynamic energy and polemic intensity; like so
much English painting in the 1920s it lacked a distinctive flavour
and a guiding principle. In 1940 his application to become an official
war artist was turned down and the pictures he submitted were rejected.
Although he gained an independent commission from the Royal Air
Force, he was deeply upset by official rejection and later suffered
a severe stroke. Typically, he continued to argue his case even
applying for a menial clerical post as assistant to the war artist's
advisory committee. "Though an eye is lost", he wrote
in late 1942, "my hand is not and there is every hope of getting
it right back". (11)
Four years later Nevinson died, aged fifty-seven, having learned
to paint with his left-hand.
I have dwelt at length on these two very different British artists
because they tell us something of the differences and common themes
in the art of the two wars. It has been said of the Second World
War (12) that very little
art could have been produced unless it was done within the auspices
of the government-funded art scheme. To a lesser extent this was
also the case during the First World War. Indeed, one art critic
goes so far as to argue that the official war art scheme was one
of the British government's 'few inspired moments' because it recognised
the cultural value of artistic records in addition to their propaganda
function. (13) Let us
look in more detail at these schemes.
Commissioning the Artists
The origins of an official war art scheme during the First World
War can be traced to a decision made by the Foreign Office, in late
August 1914, to establish a secret department to manage and disseminate
British propaganda. The department, headed by Liberal politician
Charles F.G.Masterman, was known simply as Wellington House, after
its office address in Buckingham Gate, London. Working in secret,
the department published and distributed clandestine literature
aimed at neutral countries across the globe. In April 1916 a pictorial
section was established and an extraordinary variety of visual propaganda
was commissioned; this included war films, picture cards, calendars,
bookmarks, lantern-slides as well as photographs and line drawings.
An all-picture publication, the War Pictorial, was produced in five
language editions and achieved a world-wide circulation of 300,000.
It soon became apparent, however, that the flow of photographs from
the battle fronts could not meet the voracious demands of the department.
By late 1915 the illustrated newspapers too were desperate for authentic
front-line images and were offering cash incentives to soldiers
with suitable sketchbook material. (14)
The decision to employ artists, rather than studio
illustrators, was partly due to the fact that many of the key staff
at Wellington House were established figures in the London art world
(15) but also because the new photogravure process
of volume printing allowed images of subtle tonal complexity to
be well reproduced. By sponsoring war art a government could also
appear to be nurturing cultural freedom, as opposed to the vulgar
propaganda of German Kultur. Only in the latter stages of the war
did the idea of creating an art collection as a permanent memorial
emerge as a coherent aim. Credit for this must go to Max Aitken
(later Lord Beaverbrook) who bought an organisational flair and
entrepreneurial zeal (first honed on the Canadian War Memorials
scheme) to the newly formed Ministry of Information in March 1918.
What was the impact of this complex organisational structure on
British artists ? In the first instance, it provided a small number
of painters and printmakers with regular work. Artists such as William
Orpen were in demand:About ten minutes past four up breezed a car,
and in it was a slim little man with an enormous head and two remarkable
eyes. I saluted and tried to make military noises with my boots.
Said he:
"Are you Orpen ?" "Yes, sir,"
said I. "Are you willing to work for the Canadians ?"
said he. "Certainly, sir," said I. "Well,"
said he, " that's all right. Jump in, and
we'll go and have a drink."(16)
Under Aitken's stewardship the British War Memorials
Scheme became systematic and prescriptive: wartime activity was
divided into eight subject groupings (Army, Navy, Air Force, Merchant
Marine, Land, Munitions, Clerical and other work by Women, Public
Manifestations) and artists were then selected to fit these subjects.
By the end of the war over 130 artists had been conscripted to this
purpose, these included sixteen 'soldier-artists' who had been released
from active service to paint on the front-line.
Commissioning could be quite draconian. The artist Adrian Hill,
who had served at the front as a signaller and scout in the 1st
Honourable Artillery Company, was told precisely what to draw:
Towns and localities behind the lines which
are specially identified with the British Army ... points of juncture
between our line and the line occupied by the
French, American, Belgian and Portuguese, so as to show the different
nationalities side by side ... labour and engineering work by
Coloured Battalions
which show the distinct dress of the Chinese etc., and especially
some sketches of Tanks HQ showing repairing and the like. (17)
In time Hill produced an extensive portfolio
of 187 pen and ink drawings documenting rather mundane and unremarkable
activities of the war zone. An active commissioning policy, however,
had its drawbacks. Whereas Hill's drawings were encouraged (and
it is said, were highly regarded by General Haig) his oil paintings
were flatly rejected: "The committee was not favourably impressed
by your oil paintings and it was thought desirable that you should
keep to drawings in future." (18)
The main thrust of the Ministry (and in turn the newly formed National
War Museum) was to create both a record and a memorial through its
art collection. Some artists were paid to produce a single picture
for an intended Hall of Remembrance (£300 plus materials and
studio expenses for one of the larger pictures). Younger, less established
artists were offered a rather more modest deal - a salary of £300
per annum in return for their total artistic output during that
period. This proposal was accepted by now familiar figures such
as Paul Nash, Colin Gill, Bernard Meninsky and John Nash (all aged
under thirty) but, interestingly, rejected by Nevinson who surmised
that it would "prove a bad business proposition". (19)
Inevitably, the Hall of Remembrance was not built, nor was the great
Canadian Memorial scheme intended to house Aitken's other collection
of war art. Arguably the greatest legacy of the war's art was the
scheme itself. Twenty years later it provided the template for the
War Artists' Advisory Committee (W.A.A.C.) headed by the respected
art historian Sir Kenneth Clark, then the Surveyor of the King's
Pictures at Windsor and Director of the National Gallery, London.
Despite Clarks' single-minded ambition to produce an outstanding
artistic record of the war by employing many of Britain's finest
painters, printmakers and sculptors he soon became entangled in
the political rivalries of Whitehall and the Armed Services. "Painting
of war scenes is publicity and not news ..." opined one memorandum
from the Ministry "and it ought therefore to be our responsibility
and not that of the service departments". (20)
Clark was also restricted by the need to employ artists capable
of making representational or illustrative work. In 1942 he looked
back on the perameters set by the committees' terms of reference:
The War Artists collection cannot be completely
representative of modern English art, because it cannot include
those pure painters who are interested solely
in putting down their feelings about shapes and colours, and not
in facts, drama and human emotions.(21)
While not fully representative, Clark trawled
far and wide for the best artists. In its first sixteen weeks the
committee considered some eight hundred names, including all those
employed during the Great War. Few made the grade. Nevinson, as
we have seen, was omitted. A few veterans - Paul Nash, Kennington,
and Bone - were recruited. The fees offered by the WAAC were lower
than those offered in the Great War ; £150 to £200 was
the average price of an oil painting, watercolours might be bought
for as little as £10.
In the second war, most art was 'made to order', and although some
artists were given commissioned rank and loosely attached to a fighting
unit, their output was constantly tailored towards producing a particular
portfolio of images. In the Great War, the first wave of official
artists had been given honorary rank, a vague brief and allowed
to roam at will. All this changed as the Beaverbrook reforms took
hold and artists were required to conform to the grand scheme of
the Hall of Remembrance. Although this produced some fine art it
also produced an air of conformity; several landscape painters,
for example, agreed to work to a common horizon line. The government's
attempts to make a complete record of military activities also bred
an atmosphere of casual overproduction.
Managing the schemes of both wars required logistical prowess, administrative
dexterity and, perhaps most crucially, patience. Those in the military
who had to deal with the artists seemed to have suffered equally
during both wars. In 1917 the Department (later Ministry) of Information
had asked that a permanent artists base be set up in France to cater
for greater numbers than the one-at-a-time system so far in place.
This did not happen. The BEF Intelligence Chief General Sir John
Charteris, argued that two artists at any time was ample and complained
of their unfortunate tendency to "want to sit down and look
at a place for a long time." (22)
Little had changed by the second war. The minutes of the War Artists'
Advisory Committee (which met weekly between November 23rd 1939
and December 28th 1945) relate numerous tales of petty frustrations
and restrictions, tinged with some modest successes:
29 12 1939 Letters
to Robert Medley [artist] in A.R.P. offering 50 gns
for 8 pictures of scenes at a disembarkation port in France
and of 'life at the base'
11 1 1940 Medley
refused permission to go to France by the War Office
and
appointed to do Civil Defence.
7 2 1940 John
Nash and Eric Ravilious appointed Captain, Royal
Marines.
Medley authorised to travel third class.
and more prosaically:
13 9 1943 'Home
Security: Mr Kenneth Rowntree. This artist has
accepted the commission to paint jam-making, which
is
being done by the Women's Institute.'(23)
However humble his calling, Mr Rowntree's achievement
in gaining the status of an officially appointed artist was considerable.
There were a great many others in both wars, who yearned for such
a position. Those who administered the war artists schemes were
inundated with requests from artists who wished to sell war-related
work, or who craved official accreditation. Algernon Mayow Talmage,
Royal Academician, silver medallist at the Paris Salon, bronze medallist
at the Pittsburgh International exhibition was one such artist.
In May 1917 he presented his credentials to the war museum:
'No picture that I am aware of, has been really
studied on the spot so as to get the real environment and atmospheric
conditions and phenomenon. I have been
painting in the open all my life and I feel that were it possible
to give me opportunities to study this subject I could paint a
picture which would be a value as a
record and venture to hope as a work of art which would be something
entirely different to the usual hackneyed and unconvincing picture.'
(24)
Like so many others, he was turned down.
Rowland Hill, by comparison, was an unknown painter who had served
out the war as a lance-corporal ("a very unimportant item"
as he described it) in the Royal Defence Corps on Home Service.
Two months after the Armistice he wrote the first of many letters
to the War Museum pleading for 'official leave' to "make some
record of our true battlegrounds, and of the immensely picturesque
material before it is all 'mended' and tidied up".(25)
Despite several rejections Hill eventually gained a passport to
travel to France, but failed to gain clearance to sketch in the
old war zones. Undeterred he again approached the war museum, only
to be rebuffed. Eventually, as restrictions were eased, he gained
access and seems to have visited the 'sacred sites' on the old front
line - destroyed tanks on the Freyzenburg Ridge, the Cloth Hall
at 'Wipers', the Ramparts, etc. We know this because for the following
twelve years he wrote regularly to the museum begging them to buy
his work: "Will your people give me two guineas for this drawing
of the Ramparts of Ypres", he wrote in January 1930, "It
is unique in its way. I am pitifully hard up and the money would
help me considerably." (26) Deluged with
similar requests the museum pleaded lack of funds and a glut of
images of ruination. There is however a pleasing coda to this tale.
Hill's obituary of 1952 relates:
It is difficult to assess the influence of events on the work
of a man, but one definite step was achieved in his career. After
the war he received a permit to visit the battlefields and one
of his works created out of that venture hangs in the Imperial
War Museum.
And this oil painting, Ypres, donated by the painter to the war
museum in December 1919, is listed in a dictionary of painters as
one of Hill's principal works. (27)
Similarly, throughout the Second World War the authorities were
besieged by earnest, but frustrated, 'war artists'. In March 1940
the secretary of the WAAC, E.M.O'r.Dickey wrote despondently to
a fellow committee member:
There is a man called Richard Ellis who has
been plaguing the life out of us here. His trouble is that he
wants to be both an official artist and a spy at the same
time ... I seem to be fated to refer to you people whose handwriting
nobody can read. (28)
What was at the root of this fascination with
depicting warfare? Few of those who aspired to become war artists
did so to avoid danger: in both wars artists were exposed to discomfort
and death. Financial security may have held some attraction: though
as we have seen the remuneration was rarely generous. Perhaps we
must recognise that many artists wished to be exposed to the privations
of war so as to test out and hone their skills in unique and demanding
circumstances. To witness, interpret and leave some form of personal
testimony was an ambition more pervasive than is commonly thought.
In both wars, it appears, artists needed to come to terms with their
violent muse. (29) " I tell you" wrote
the soldier-artist Keith Henderson in October 1916, "the 'subjects'
are endless, and in particular I long to do great big stretches
of this bleak brown land". (30) Twenty five
years later, official artist Edward Bawden wrote in a similar vein:
It often seemed to me unfair that I should
enjoy the privilege of remaining an Official War Artist in the
Middle East when there are so many competent painters
at home ... so many others have not had the privilege of being
able to pursue their civilian occupations. I must admit that I
thoroughly enjoy the life, that trekking
and camping or a long march gives me immense pleasure. (31)
Subject Matter
In 1943 the poet Stephen Spender wrote that 'War
Pictures' could mean only one thing: "famous ruins ... our
historic monuments in their sudden decay ... the bombed city".
The artist of this war, he declared, is "the Civilian Defence
Artist".
In the last war we would have meant pictures
of the Western Front ... a picture of blasted trees, trenches,
mud, shell-holes, shattered Ypres, the straight roads
of France with army lorries moving through a landscape of bursting
shells, a landscape where no bird sang.(32)
Despite the many other theatres of war - East
Africa, Gallipoli, Salonika and Jerusalem - the trench world of
Flanders was, and still is, the leitmotif of that conflict. "There
is a kind of insistence" concludes Spender, "a continuity,
about the idea of the Western Front, which immediately conjures
up the whole of the Great War". (33)
Artists played their part in re-inforcing this
condition, though not all of them found it abhorrent. Painters and
poets developed a morbid obsession with the phantasmagoric terrain
of No Man's Land. David Jones described its strange topography as
a place of:
...sudden violences and long stillnesses,
the sharp contours and unformed voids of that mysterious existence
profoundly affected the imaginations of those who suffered it.
It was a place of enchantment. (34)
It is ironic that such a quantity of paintings,
prints, drawings (and the occasional relief sculpture) should have
resulted from a land that had been so systematically destroyed.
Not all artists could translate the desolation into visual terms.
John Singer Sargent was dumbfounded :
The further forward one goes the more scattered
and meagre everything is. The nearer to danger, the fewer and
more hidden themen - the more dramatic the
situation the more it becomes an empty landscape. (35)
Faced with emptiness artists learned to describe
the void. Although Muirhead Bone's drawings of piles of rubble in
the midst of a few burnt tree stumps are entitled 'Deniecourt Chateau'
or 'Thiepval Village' there is little to prove that he was in the
correct location. Instead, many artists fixed on the few remaining
architectural icons of the Western Front. The Cloth Hall of Ypres
and the ruined Basilica and Leaning Madonna at Albert were favourite
motifs; indeed it would be possible to compile a pictorial record
of the tortuous destruction of the Cloth Hall from the hundreds
of drawings and paintings made by British artists alone. One painter,
David Baxter (serving as an official artist with the Red Cross and
St John's Ambulance) painted the ragged remains of the Flemish hall
no fewer than twenty four times. (36)
Images of the soldier, though numerically fewer, could have a memorable
impact. The first painting of the Great War to capture the public
imagination had been Eric Kennington's reverse painting on glass
The Kensington's of Laventie which depicted a platoon of dishevelled
infantrymen preparing for the trenches. The picture's authority
is based in part on its harsh authenticity and extraordinary technical
virtuosity, but also on Kennington's experiences as a footsoldier.
(37)
Like the soldiers painted by Nevinson, Kennington's weary and dishevelled
platoon is a far cry from the heroic youth daily depicted in the
illustrated press or hanging from the walls of the Royal Academy
every summer - "castrated Lancelots" as Nevinson lampooned
them. (38) Painting a uniformed figure, however,
required a level of draughtsmanship that was often beyond the talents
of the amateur and this may in part explain the prevalence of battlescapes
in the Great War oeuvre.
Images of ruined towns and buildings were common to both wars.They
were especially prevalent during the first years of the second world
war. The reason is obvious : left without a toe-hold on the continent
Britain had to endure months of aerial bombardment. Compared to
the deserted warscapes of Nash and Nevinson the bombed cities of
London, Coventry and Bristol are populated with wardens, construction
and demolition teams, firemen and stretcher parties. Here the accent
is on dogged resistance, rather than benighted desperation. In the
second war, paintings of the ruined city served as the narrative
background to "the new type of warrior" - the ordinary
man, long suffering, but ever determined. "The hero" argued
J.B. Morton, "even when he is not in the picture, is Tom, Dick
or Harry, and the heroine his wife." (39)
This resulted in a form of popular, democratised portraiture in
which the despatch rider, the auxiliary fire messenger, and the
air raid warden became the focus of artists' attention. In the previous
war such sittings would have been strictly reserved for high ranking
generals and air aces.
The benighted and blitzed Britain of the 1940s presented a very
different challenge to artists normally accustomed to working en
plein air. Nightshift production, sunken control rooms, dimly lit
headquarters offices became legitimate subject matter for artists,
giving rise to a sub-genre of claustrophobic, busy interiors. The
Blitz also produced a new motif of the administrator as war hero.
Meredith Frampton's triple portrait of the Senior Regional Commissioner
for Civil Defence in the London Region and his deputies is, as Angela
Weight observes, a formidable image of 'administrative sang-froid'(40)
providing evidence that "order, stability and control"
are being maintained despite the chaos and darkness above ground.
The Blitz provided artists with an extraordinary narrative of movement,
colour and action. The crowded dormitories of London's shelters
and underground stations gave draughtsmen such as Felix Topolski
and Edward Ardizzone unique opportunities to draw complex forms
in subdued lighting. Henry Moore's shelter sketches proved to be
a turning point in his artistic development. British painting, though,
lacked the painterly language that might match the apocalyptic vision
of the Blitz . Composed primarily of illustrators and draughtsmen,
many of the WAAC artists were short of the expressive power needed
to describe the catastrophic grandeur of the bombing.
For four years the Home Front was the cultural lodestone of the
Second World War, just as the Western Front had been during the
Great War. This is immediately obvious in the titles of the two
series of illustrated booklets ' War Pictures by British Artists'
funded by the Ministry of Information and published by Oxford University
Press in 1942 and 1943. The four booklets in series one were entitled
War at Sea, Blitz, R.A.F., Army ; the second series Women, Production,
Soldiers, Air-Raids. Amongst the fifty pictures reproduced in Production,
for example, are depictions of tank manufacture, miners at work,
barrel testing, and 'snack time in a factory'.
Such limited subject matter might have dispirited the most innovative
artist. But this appears not to have been the case. R.V.Pitchforth's
painting of 'Snack-time' is, in fact, a typically bold design of
three workmen hastily consuming their food. His painting 'Welding
Bofors Guns' describes the same men immersed in their work. Pitchforth
accentuates the harsh light, the simple repetition of cube and cylindrical
forms amidst the theatrical setting of the darkened factory. During
the First World War, many of the younger war artists had adopted
the geometric dynamic offered by Cubist and Vorticist art to shape
the industrial scale of the war machine. Painters such as Edward
Wadsworth and Nevinson learned to simplify their pictorial language,
opting for the diagonal line over the perpendicular, extreme tonal
differences over subtle gradations, simplification instead of detail.
Wadsworth's images of dazzle ships epitomise this bold and uncompromising
method. Thirty years later British artists renewed their interest
in the industrial process by bringing together the abstract formal
qualities of the built environment but paying greater attention
to the role of the individual worker.
This reached its zenith in Stanley Spencer's extraordinary sequence
of paintings depicting the shipyards on the Clyde produced between
1940 and 1946. Employed by the WAAC, Spencer thrived in the close-knit
community of Port Glasgow and he learned quickly to understand the
individual tasks of the different workers. His precise drawing style
was ideally suited to the visual confusion of the welding shops,
the panel beating and the caulking. Having never been taught to
sketch rapidly, however, he was not always able to capture the bustling
energy of the yards. In 1942 he wrote somewhat dejectedly:
'I wish I could have made more particular
studies of the men ... What I seriously need is to make a careful
series of drawings ... of women and men ... in their
native clothes. ... It is that subtle variation in their clothes
[which is] expressive of their varied character that is so truly
full of charm, beauty, and interest. But
whenever I have been up there they have all been too busy'.(41)
In both wars artists rapidly learned to make
the most out of the physical and visual constraints of the workplace.
Nowhere was this more evident than when drawing in the blitzed cities.
Graham Sutherland had first realised the "possibilities of
destruction as a subject" when drawing in bombed Swansea in
1940.(42) But it was not until he was required
to return to the east end of London that he began to appreciate
the gravity of events and his responsibilities as an artist:
'I had been attempting to paraphrase what
I saw and to make paintings which were parallel to rather than
a copy of nature. But now, suddenly, I was a paid
official - a sort of reporter and, naturally, not only did I feel
that I had to give value for money,but to contrive somehow to
reflect in an immediate way the
subjects set me'. (43)
Finding the devastation around the City "more
exciting than anywhere else" he made what he called 'perfunctory
drawings' as a way of accustoming himself to the weird sights of
flattened office blocks, charred buildings, twisted and collapsed
lift-shafts 'like a wounded animal'. But like his predecessors in
the Great War, Sutherland took to his tasks in a very businesslike
way:
'..on a typical day, I would arrive there
from Kent where we had resumed living, with very spare paraphernalia
- a sketchbook, black ink, two or three coloured
chalks, a pencil - and with an apparent watertight pass that would
take me anywhere within the forbidden area'. (44)
Working sketchbooks show us how Sutherland developed
his initial impressions. One drawing made in Fore Street, City of
London in 1941 has been 'squared-up' so that it can be transferred
in the studio to a canvas or larger sheet of paper. There is a palpable
tension between the ink and charcoal marks that describe the awful
devastation, and the precisely numbered transfer lines coolly drawn
over the surface of the tortured city. It is as if the artist was
trying to use lineal order and control to neutralise the hurt. Notations
in other sketchbooks tell us much about the matter-of-fact way many
war artists went about their business; Sutherland's drawings of
tin miners in Cornwall are accompanied by brief phrases that evoke
the non-visual phenomena:
Miner approaching turns on hearing voice issues
from slope below.Walls dripping with moisture. Do paintings sufficiently
large to give an impression of the
actual scale of the mine tunnel. (45)
We can learn a great deal
from scrawled marginalia and notes in artists' sketchbooks. In First
World War drawings we find similar notations - detailed colour notes,
vital information about insignia, occasionally the censor's signature
and date stamp. In a reconnaissance sketch drawn from a front-line
trench by Paul Maze, the phrase "could not go on through heavy
shelling" is scribbled, with appreciable haste, in the corner
of the unfinished image.(46)
In both wars artists often had to cope with poor equipment and sub-standard
materials - Maze writes in his war memoir of a time when the watercolour
brush actually froze on the paper. During both period there are
many stories of artists overcoming difficult, sometimes appalling
circumstances. This was especially true of those artists who were
captured and confined to prison of war camps. Jack Chalker kept
an illicit sketchbook while building the Burma Railway as a prisoner
of the Japanese. (47)
Official War Artist John Worsley was captured in 1943 while taking
part in daring raids in the Adriatic. During his imprisonment in
Marlag Camp, Bremen he made watercolours of the camp and an oil
painting of the contents of a red cross parcel. Soon after his release,
Worsley successfully appealed to the organisers of an exhibition
of war art at the National Gallery to exhibit this work:
'I took so much trouble, and underwent such
considerable hazard (including hiding much from the Germans) to
get them out of Germany and in a small way justify my capture,
that the disappointment was extreme. I even constructed a container
from Red Cross milk tins, which I carried for an eighty-mile march,
under strafing from fighter planes, to get them here'. (48)
The Artist as Combatant
As we have seen, the second wave of official war artists commissioned
during 1917 and 1918 were largely drawn from officers and soldiers
with recent front-line experience: Wyndham Lewis had been a subaltern
with 6th Howitzer Battery; Paul Nash and John Nash had served respectively
with the Hampshires and the Artists Rifles; William Roberts had
been in France with the Royal Field Artillery, and Stanley Spencer
was barely surviving as a footsoldier with the Berkshire Regiment
in Macedonia. The Studio arts magazine regularly published lists
of artists, illustrators, poets and draughtsmen serving with the
forces.
Front-line experience bought a vigour and edge that had largely
been missing from the work of establishment figures such as William
Orpen and Muirhead Bone. Once experienced, however, few of these
soldier-artists expressed a wish to return to the theatre of war.
Lewis might have described modern war as " the greatest romance"
but he also wrote of life in the salient as an unpalatable "mixture
of tedium and acute danger" (49)
and most of the young artists painted their memorable pictures while
safely ensconced in studios in rural England.
Drawing on the front-line was often a hazardous, but illuminating
experience. In the months before his appointment as an artist, Adrian
Hill had served as a scout and sniper. He recalled a typical drawing
patrol in No-Man's-Land:
'I advanced in short rushes, mostly on my hands
and knees with my sketching kit dangling around my neck. As I
slowly approached, the wood gradually took
a more definite shape, and as I crept nearer I saw that what was
hidden from our own line, now revealed itself as a cunningly contrived
observation post in one
of the battered trees'.(50)
Many of Hill's later front-line
drawings share this same quality - hurriedly drawn eye-witness accounts
of lone figures scurrying across the flattened ground, tanks marooned
on the battlefield, signallers feeding out wire in a dissipated
space.
Hill's fluid and active drawings predict many of the front-line
images of the second war. Artist's output in that war had fallen
into several distinct phases: images of waiting and watching during
the Phoney War of 1939, paintings of industrial production during
the early 1940s, partnered by the powerful drawings of the Blitz
by Sutherland, Piper and Moore. Between 1942-43 home-based artists
- such as Pitchforth and Vaughan - described periods of intense
training and preparation. During 1944, just as the war in Europe
exploded into action, artists had to rise (as Hill had done) to
the challenge of a fluid, physically demanding and dangerous artistic
environment.
Possibly the finest example of the artist-soldier in World War Two
is the young painter Albert Richards. Born in 1919 Richards had
already served three years as a sapper, followed by a year as an
engineer parachutist before being transferred for official duties
as a war artist - the committee having been impressed by batches
of drawings and watercolours he had submitted. Unlike many artists
faced with the repetitive sights of ruin and blitz, Richards found
subjects everywhere : anti-tank ditches, searchlight batteries,
camouflaged huts, bailey bridges and the myriad of physical tasks
of the sapper were all recorded. Perhaps Richards most impressive
work of early 1944 were his renditions of parachute training in
southern England. Parachuting could not have been more different
from the earth-bound duties of a sapper. The experience was exhilarating,
bringing weightlessness and release from the tedium of ordinary
life. To the artist it introduced a unique new vista :
The ground, once seen with all its ugliness
and imperfections, was now a remote drifting region of spilled
yellows, greens and brown, the sky tilted and the
body freed. (51)
On midnight before D Day,
6th June 1944, Richards parachuted into Normandy with 9th Battalion
6th Airborne Division to produce "paintings of the war and
not preparations for it ". (52)
This he certainly did. But upon landing it was found that all the
officers were injured and Richards, still only an honorary Captain,
had to take command of the platoon and advance on their objective,
an enemy battery near Merville, east of SWORD beach. The battery
was taken just two hours before the beach landings began. Soon after,
Richards made four watercolour sketches of 'the landing at H hour
minus six', the aftermath of the attack on the battery, 'the constant
watch for snipers' at Le Plein, and gliders cross-landed against
a bridge. Later in England he was able to develop and refine these
hastily drawn images. On July 19th he described the circumstances
in which they had been made:
'I know the four watercolours I sent in to
you were much below what I expected of them. I was in a rather
dazed condition when I painted them ... The method
which the committee suggests I work is the method which I have
been brought up to. The Design School at the R.C.A. was a great
believer in giving the subject
time to develop before putting any statement on paper. I have
always felt that if the subject was good enough, it would still
be fresh months after seeing it, and
probably would have developed in one's mind during that time.(53)
Richards was an adventurous
watercolourist. Often he ignored the customary rules; a favourite
technique was to rub a wax candle into parts of the paper so as
to animate the picture surface and create a texture that might evoke
the surface of a glider canopy or an abandoned vehicle. As well
as being an intuitive colourist, Richards had no fear of the colour
black : he used it frequently to unify a picture's design or to
control the swathes of orange and red that appear so often in his
work. Richards' best work bears comparison with the Great War work
of Paul Nash; there is a similar ability to animate a picture through
surface design, and a keen understanding of the role of outline
in the internal scaffolding of the paintings.
Characteristically, Richards had a low opinion of his front-line
work. Like many war artists he was torn between his function as
an impartial observer and his responses as a friend and colleague.
He wrote in 1944 :
'I am not sure of their value. In painting
them my mind was always full of my gallant Airborne friends who
gave their lives so readily. It's the first time I have ever
witnessed death in this crude from. Somehow I am hoping that it
will all help me to paint the pictures that I want to paint yet
feel unable to do so. I feel that
watercolour transparent and opaque will be the best medium for
me to use at this stage of the battle'.(54)
Other artists had landed on
the beaches of Normandy. Anthony Gross waded ashore holding his
drawing board high over his head. Barnett Freedman, Stephen Bone
and Richard Eurich drew on the beaches during June and July. Hard
lessons were learned. Edward Ardizzone, for example, had remembered
to protect his precious artist's materials. One year earlier during
an amphibious landing in Italy he had lost his balance and fallen
into the water. His sketchbook, though, was safe - "I'd wrapped
that up in a F.L. (French Letter) for protection against the water".(55)
Stephen Bone arrived in mid-July and spent many weeks recording
scenes on sea and shore. Like many oil painters he was irritated
by the dust and sand. Muirhead Bone, drawing on his experiences
of an earlier war, advised the WAAC that artists should use a special
box for wet oils "I remember Orpen travelled with several of
these - he needed them on the Somme - I remember that !"(56)
After the breakout from the beachheads, artists followed close behind
the advancing Allied armies - a mobility that was never enjoyed
by Adrian Hill or Paul Nash. The rapid advance bought its own problems.
Albert Richards found there was no time to develop his front-line
sketches. In February 1945 he wrote to Gregory at the WAAC:
'Advances are happening at different points
in the line. So much so, that one is inclined to hop from one
sector to another. The landscape is becoming more
interesting as we climb out of Holland into Germany. The flooded
landscape has brought fresh interest to the warfare ...Slowly
but surely we are creeping into
Germany, one might say into Germany in bottom gear which surely
applies to driving in a jeep, for it's not traffic that holds
one up, it's the muddy roads. I'm
not very good at traffic hold-ups which I suppose are inevitable,
and I've developed the bad habit of trying to find a new road.'(57)
His habit had fatal consequences.
A few days after writing, Richards turned off the road near the
Maas River and drove straight into a minefield. He died later that
night, aged just 26.
This terrible loss points us to the single most surprising difference
between the artists of the two World Wars. Only one official artists
died in the Great War (a minor Naval painter, Geoffrey Allfree)
whereas three died in the second war - Richards on the Maas, Eric
Ravilious off Iceland, and Thomas Hennell in Indonesia. These three
were artists of quality, still young and with their very best work
ahead of them. In an unpublished article on 'the work of the war
artist' Hennell summarised the dilemma facing his colleagues; he
leaves us with a fitting epitaph to this analysis of their experience
in the two World Wars:
The artist has but one duty, to observe and
record - the moment he is tempted to interfere or play an active
part himself he ceases to perform his duty as
an artist.(58)
Notes:
1
Flyleaf introduction to War pictures by British Artists, first series,
vol. 1-4, 1942.
2
Nevinson, CRW, Paint and Prejudice, London : Methuen, 1937, p.103
3
George Bernard Shaw quoted in Bone's obituary, The Times, 23 October
1953
4
Bone to Ernest Gowers, 30 September 1916, Imperial War Museum, London
(IWM) Department of Art, file M999 Part 1
5
Manchester Guardian, 30 August 1917
6
CFG Masterman to John Buchan, 18 May 1917, IWM Dept. of Art, Nevinson
file
7
Nevinson to Masterman, 30 July 1917, IWM Dept. of Art, Nevinson
file
8
Harries, Meirion and Susie, The War Artists, London: Michael Joseph,
1983, p.39
9
Konody, Paul, Modern War Paintings by CRW Nevinson, London : Grant
Richards, 1917
10
quoted in Harries, op.cit., p.186
11
Nevinson to Bracken, 31 December 1942, IWM Dept. of Art, Nevinson
file
12
Ross, Alan, Colours of War: War Art 1939 - 45, London : Jonathan
Cape, 1983, p.24
13
Farr, Denis, English Art: 1870 - 1940, Oxford : OUP, 1978, p.226-227
14
See for example Illustrated London News 24 April 1915, 4 September
1915, and The Graphic 8 January 1916
15
Amongst the staff at Wellington House were Eric Maclagan, later
Director of the Victoria and Albert Museum ; Campbell Dodgson, Keeper
of Prints and Drawings at the British Museum ; Alfred Yockney, one-time
editor of Art Journal
16
Orpen, William, An Onlooker in France, London : Williams and Norgate
/ Ernest Benn, 1923, p. 42
17
ffoulkes to Hill, 14 June 1918, IWM Dept. of Art file 74/3 part
ii
18
Director-General of National War Museum to General Haig, 1 October
1917 ; Yockney to Hill, 27 February 1919, IWM Dept. of Art file
74/3 part ii ;
See also Hill's letters of 4 October
1917, 12 November 1917 held in the Brotherton library, Liddle Collection,
Leeds University
19
Nevinson to Masterman, 10 March 1918, IWM Dept. of Art Nevinson
file
20
Deputy Director General to Director General, 6 November 1939, IWM
Dept. of Art file GP/46/A
21
'War Artists at the National Gallery', The Studio, CXXIII, January
1942, p.586
22
Charteris to Masterman, 12 March 1917, IWM file G4010/17
23
WAAC Minutes file, IWM
24
IWM Dept. of Art file 303/7
25
IWM Dept. of Art file 156/5 pt ii
26
Hill to E.Blaikley, 28 January 1930, IWM Dept. of Art file 156/5
pt ii
27
Waters, Grant M., Dictionary of British Artists working 1900 - 1950,
Eastbourne Fine Art, 1975
28
EM O'r Dickey to Coote, WAAC Minutes, 6 March 1940
29
For a fuller debate on this topic see Howlett, Jane and Mengham,
Rod (eds) The Violent Muse, Manchester University Press, 1994
30
Henderson, Keith, Letters to Helen, privately published, 1917, p.
66
31
Bawden to Dickey, 16 October 1941, IWM Dept. of Art
32
Spender, Stephen: War Pictures by British Artists: Second Series,
no.4, Air Raids, Oxford University Press, 1943
33
Spender, ibid.
34
Jones, David, In Parenthesis, London : Faber, 1937, p.x
35
Mount, Charles Serrill, John Singer Sargent: An Autobiography, London
: Crescent Press, 1957, p. 297
36
See Gough, Paul, "The Empty Battlefield", Imperial War
Museum Review, no. 8, 1993, pp.38-48
37
The Kensingtons at Laventie, IWM Dept. of Art 15661
See also the essay on the painting
by Angela Weight, Imperial War Museum Review, No.1, 1986
38
Nevinson to Masterman, 25 November 1917, IWM Dept. of Art, Nevinson
file
39
Morton, J.B., War Pictures by British Artists - First Series, No.2,
Blitz, Oxford University Press, 1942
40
Weight, Angela, 'Night for Day: the symbolic value of light in the
painting of the Second World War', Imperial War Museum Review, 1988,
p. 50
41
Stanley Spencer to Dickey, 4 March 1942, IWM Spencer correspondence;
see also Stanley Spencer RA, Royal
Academy of Arts, 1980, p. 193
42
Sutherland quoted in Daily Telegraph, 10 September 1971
43
Sutherland, ibid.
44
Sutherland, ibid.
45
Notes on the artists' drawings held by the IWM Dept. of Art
46
Cited in Gough, Paul, The Experiences of British Artists in the
Great War, eds. Liddle and Cecil, London : Leo
Cooper, 1996, p.847
47
Chalker , Jack, Burma Railway Artist : War Drawings of Jack Chalker,
London, Leo Cooper, 1994
48
Worsley, 8 October 1945, quoted in Ross, Colours of War, p.177
49
Lewis, Wyndham, Blasting and Bombardiering, London : Eyre and Spottiswoode,
1967, p.184
50
Adrian Hill, 15 November 1930, in The Graphic
51
Richards quoted in Ross, Colours of War, p.104
52
Richards to Gregory, 5 June 1944, IWM Dept.of Art
53
Richards to IWM, 19 July 1944
54
Richards to Gregory, end of June 1944
55
Edward Ardizzone, unpublished diary entry, 8 July 1943
56
Bone to Gregory, 12 August 1944, IWM Bone file
57
Richards to Gregory, ? February 1945. This was Richards' last letter
to the WAAC
58
Hennell, unpublished article 'The Work of a War Artist', IWM.
Bibliography Cork,
Richard, A Bitter Truth: Avant-Garde art and the Great War, New
Haven, Connecticut, Yale University Press, 1994
Darracott, Joseph and Keegan, John, The Nature of War, New York
: Holt, Rinehart, Winston, 1981
Foote, M.R.D., Art and War : Twentieth century Warfare as Depicted
by War Artists, London : Headline, 1990
Fosse, Brian, Art of the Second World War, New Haven, Connecticut,
Yale University Press, (in preparation)
Harries, Meirion and Susie, The War Artists, London :Michael Joseph
and Tate Gallery, 1983
Harrington, Peter, British Artists and War : the Face of Battle
in Paintings and Prints, 1700 - 1914, London, 1993
Mayes, William, The Origins of an Art Collection (First World War),
unpublished manuscript, Imperial War Museum, London
Ross, Alan, Colours of War: War Art 1939 - 45, London : Jonathan
Cape, 1983
Shone, Richard, A Century of Change: British Painting since 1900,
Oxford : OUP, 1977
Spalding, Frances, British Art since 1900, London : Thames and Hudson,
1986
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